


Art Deco

by royal_chandler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Armor Kink, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:08:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: The voice in the back of his head shouts at Steve to respect Tony’s privacy, but the other man is so wildly beautiful and wanton that the diamond-bright desire under Steve’s skin--the torch he’s been carrying for what feels like always--burns hotter than shame.





	Art Deco

**Author's Note:**

> The title is borrowed from Lana Del Rey. Unless you squint really, really hard, the actual song is unrelated.
> 
> Beta'd by the beautiful [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret). Any and all mistakes are my own.

Steve arrives at the glass outside of the workshop before he even recognizes the scene he’s intruded on. It’s routine to bound down the stairs to Tony’s workshop after a mission, when debriefs are over and he’s swapped the red, white, and blue for neutrals. He expects to find Tony at his bench, working on the armor, but instead, it’s an inverted fever dream before his eyes. Tony’s sitting up naked _on_ the bench, perched on its edge, and the armor is working _in_ him when the identification panel recognizes Steve’s handprint and the door slides away to reveal the mostly blacked out workshop. The door’s pneumatic hiss is muted by Tony’s tell-tale groans.

Stunned to the spot and cloaked in the darkness, Steve looks on as red and gold radiates under the halo of select ceiling lamps, sleek metal trapped in the cage of Tony’s legs and pressed up against his front. As if it can be greedy--and maybe it can, Steve wouldn’t be entirely surprised--one of the armor’s gauntlets is spread open and grips the parenthesis of Tony’s right hipbone, dimpling the skin there to a desperate red. While Steve can’t see the other, he knows exactly what it’s doing, can hear the slippery noises of sex as the joint of the armor’s elbow jackknifes between strong, taut thighs.

Cock twitching, Steve watches the dark flicker of Tony’s long lashes, the sink of his neat, white teeth into his bottom lip. He tracks the lean lines and muscles that move under skin like livewire, the roll of Tony’s hips, and knows he should leave. It wouldn’t be awful to turn away now. He could steal this snapshot before him, take it up to his room, and fill in the fantasies that are becoming increasingly colorless. The voice in the back of his head shouts at Steve to respect Tony’s privacy, but the other man is so wildly beautiful and wanton, looks so good riding the fingers of the armor hard and giving orders, that the diamond-bright desire under Steve’s skin--the torch he’s been carrying for what feels like always--burns hotter than shame.

Heedless of the guilt and against his better judgement, Steve stays. In no time, the erection caught in his sweatpants goes from half-hard to full-on and leaking, stroked and handled viciously by the sound of Tony’s filthy moans, the unapologetic bliss that lights his face, and the length of his throat as his head falls back on an invisible, graceful curve. They’re details that unpeel like precious secrets, and Steve ravenously drinks in each one as if they can be swallowed. He presses his hand to his tented crotch, and when he’s thinking about freeing the needy, hard flesh, and taking himself in hand, Tony suddenly tells the armor to stop in a stream of pants, his breath hoarse and labored.

Steve is struck with the fear that he’s been found out, his heart storms, but after a moment, he sees that Tony’s gaze hasn’t faltered from the faceplate. His legs spread wide in blatant invitation, and he slaps the armor’s side. In response, heavy boots clonk a few steps back. There’s a direct line of vision to Tony’s gorgeous, stiff cock, proud in a thatch of trimmed hair, and just below its thickness is his hole that’s well-stretched and glazed with lube. The pink and swollen ring glistens in the soft spotlight, indecent and so mouthwatering a sight, it cracks a sharp want in both directions of Steve’s backbone.

“Come on, fuck me,” Tony says impossibly with a wicked smirk.

The instruction gets Steve’s fingers to clumsily fight with the top of his sweatpants and spring his erection, but the armor returns to the vee of Tony’s legs and obliges--the jut of its cock a function that Steve’s never seen. When it pushes in, a shout-laugh erupts out of Tony’s throat, a high noise of delight and arousal that melts the edges of his smirk and shocks a dangerous and stupid whine from Steve’s own mouth. But neither Tony or the armor pay him any mind, engaged in a round of fucking that rocks Tony back on the the bolted down bench. The tools scatter and clang against the wall with each hard thrust; some fall in a clatter on the concrete floor.

“Harder, god. Yes, fuck--fucking right. Right there. Christ, just like that.”

In the space of the room, Tony’s shudders and grunts climb, his eyes screwed shut and mouth open. He flexes under the armor, and his limbs coil around it, a strange alchemy of skin and titanium alloy, malleable and mechanical in turns. It doesn’t fit quite right and agonizes Steve with envy as much as lust. The polished back of the armor doesn’t give under the angry drag of Tony’s fingers or the insistent press of his foot’s heel. Steve imagines the how he’d howl under the attention coupled with the unimaginable hot and slick clench of Tony’s body before attacking with sharp teeth. The armor can’t bruise the sweat-smooth slope of his neck and shoulder with a mobile mouth, can’t take and give like Steve would.

But there aren’t any kisses, and Steve can’t deny the possessive thrill that curls in him, how the thought gets his hand to close around his throbbing cock and pull urgently, imagining himself in the armor’s place. Steve imagines tonguing Tony’s mouth open and not stopping until he learned his rhythm and his taste beyond spit and the salt of effort. He imagines learning how Tony likes to be teased and his preferred angles, how to make him writhe and gasp and beg, how to bring back that wicked smirk, and exactly how many exclamations of ‘god’ would get Steve to consider answering to it.

Roughly, Tony bucks against the armor, and Steve dreams about letting Tony take control. His mind ventures over the dirty whisperings that would be licked into his ear, a gleaming and playful gaze watching over him as Tony turned Steve’s strength into a submissive thing, pinning Steve where he wants him, choosing the pace and when Steve gets to come. He thinks of his name on Tony’s lips, and it’s so vivid he can almost hear it.

“Steve,” Tony murmurs, entirely real. His eyes look past the shoulder of the armor and straight at Steve, electric and punching the wind out of him. “So fucking good, Steve. It feels so good. Ah, shit. I can’t. I have to--god.”

Tony slips a furious hand down between himself and the armor.

“I wanna come for you, baby. Love getting off on you. Gonna come—oh, fuck.”

On the curse that’s long and vaulted, Tony’s hips stutter hard. His eyes close, and Steve watches his hold around the armor seize and tremble as he comes, rapt. After a moment, his arms and legs slink off to the side with a streaky noise. He mumbles with a dismissive flap of his hand and the armor moves away, nearer to the wall this time, and shuts down with most of Tony’s load dripping down its stomach like the beginnings of a Pollock.

“Well, I am not looking forward to wiping that down,” Tony says, with a cringe but too easy for having just come in front of Steve. “Might be time to consider a self-cleaning capacity.”

Steve stares after him dumbly.

“Are you planning to come out of the shade?” Tony offers his hand. His smile is free of theatrics and sweet. “I’m happy to help you with that, you know.”

Steve ventures forward and walks into Tony’s grasp that tugs him close like it’s the most natural thing in the world. A tight fist wraps around him without little fanfare, and helplessly, Steve fucks into Tony’s fist that strokes him like he’s spent his own time imagining. He braces against him, using his strong shoulder for support. He studies the flush in Tony’s cheeks and his smile. “You knew I was--oh--here the entire time. What if someone else came down the stairs, Tony?”

“You make it sound so nefarious. If you came down, fabulous, let’s end this dance and get to it. After today, we could both stand to relax. If not,” Tony shrugs, “the only person allowed in blackout mode and this level of access is you, so no worries.”

That shouldn’t be what drives Steve to kiss him, this near careless attitude, but Steve’s made it this far on less than exemplary behavior so he leans in, loiters his fingers in mussed hair, and presses his mouth to Tony’s. He swallows the gasp that Tony gives like another secret and uses it to turn the kiss warm and deep, fully exploring Tony’s velvet tongue and savoring how his mouth feels. When he has to come up for air, hazy-headed and the bite of lust bringing him so close, it’s just barely to the surface. Touching their foreheads and rocking his hips forward, he breathes against Tony’s lips.

“Fuck, Tony. I want you so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, yes.”

“That’s fucking beautiful, sweet. That’s it. I got you. It’s good, baby.” Tony jerks off Steve harder and more urgently, tight and fast and talented. He wets his lips and sweeps out a hot flicker against Steve’s. He turns his wrist and bites on a sensitive patch of skin. “God, you feel amazing. And you’ve got such a pretty cock, Steve. I knew you would. Next time, it’s gonna be you in me, making me take it.”

And that right there is more than Steve can handle, catches him off-guard and has him keening, high and lost. His orgasm tears out of him and hot white stripes spill all over Tony’s fingers.

**fin**


End file.
